After the Fall
by CloakedSherlock
Summary: It's been a year since Sherlock jumped to his death and left John miserable and heartbroken. How will John react to seeing Sherlock again for the first time since his fall? I do not own any of the characters. Please review/follow as it motivates me to write more. Thanks and enjoy the story!
1. Dinner for One

*John's POV*

I don't see why he would've jumped. I told him that I would always be there for him. Did he not trust me?

The second he hit the ground, I felt my heart split in two. I guess he didn't have the feelings for me that I had for him. I can't help but think that this whole situation is all my fault. It's only been a year since this whole scene happened. It feels like it was just yesterday though. I think about it everyday. I see him fall. I hear our phone conversation all the time. That was the last time we said goodbye.

I sit in the kitchen of our flat that has fallen apart over the past year. I feel the tears streaking my face, like a stream of guilt and sadness. I've been alone for such a long time. When my old friend left, he took me with him. The only time I left the flat was when I needed something, like food or new clothes. Some people try to talk to me, and flatter me with foolish compliments. Some even ask me why my blog hasn't been updated. I usually just brush them off and keep walking. It's no longer possible for even the slightest smile to appear on my face.

What's the point in living when there's nothing that can make you happy? Is that how Sherlock felt? Did I not please him? He was everything to me, and I never knew how fast you can lose everything until it's too late. Maybe I didn't talk him out of jumping good enough. What if he never really liked me, but he kept me around to pay for the flat?

I'm starting to feel a bit hungry. I get up to look for food. We're all out. I don't want to leave though. It's cold outside, and I want to stay warm. Mrs. Hudson stopped coming by three months ago. It'd be awkward to talk to her anyways. She acts like it's my fault why Sherlock ended his life that day. Maybe it was mine. I get up to put on my coat, and I head out on the streets of London.

I went to the place Sherlock and I first went when we met. The waiter mistook us as a couple. Secretly, I kind of wished we were. I sat at the table we sat at, and I looked at the menu. My stomach was growling, but I couldn't find anything that pleased me. Eventually, I ordered something random off of the menu. When the food arrived, it seemed tasteless. I ate it anyways, and to my surprise, it tasted pretty good.

After I payed for dinner, I started to walk home. I ran into Molly on the way.

"Oh, good evening, Mr. Watson. It's been a while, hasn't it?" She tried to start a conversation.

I looked at her, and I could she that she, too, was still in pain from the tragedy last year.

"Good evening, Molly. It has been... a long time." I manage to say.

"Yeah..." She looked down. "I-I should probably go, you know, my boyfriend-"

"Oh, yeah. Don't want to keep him waiting. It was nice meeting up with you." I said.

She looked up, tears threatening to fall down her eyes. She said, "Do you still miss him?"

I looked down, deep into her eyes. "Yes, I do... All the time."


	2. Encounter in the Woods

Molly reminds me of Sherlock. That's why I enjoy seeing her, and why I only bother making conversation with her. Should I invite her over to dinner? What if she refuses? What if she says yes?

It doesn't take me too long to decide to invite her over. She said yes and that she will be over in the evening. That gives me plenty of time to ready myself, along with the flat. I head out on the town to get something for us to dine on tonight. When I arrive home, I found a text she sent to me thirty minutes ago:

_Thanks for inviting me over. I will be there in about an hour. -Molly H._

She will be here in thirty minutes! I'm not even dressed, the table isn't set! What will I do? Quickly, I set the table, prepared the tea, and rushed to my room to find something nice to wear. When I found a suit to wear, I slipped it on, and then heard Molly knock on the door. I rushed to the door, but paused in front of the mirror to make sure I look nice. I inspected myself in the mirror for a short moment.

_Well done, Watson, _I said to myself, _After an entire year, you finally manage to tidy up a bit._

I open the door and let Molly in, taking in her dress she put on. It's a violet dress that goes to her feet, but I spy some silver shoes under her dress as she walks through the threshold. Her hair is done up into a messy- yet elegant- bun. I pour her a cuppa, and she thanks me. I pour myself one too.

We sit at the dining table and dined on the food I have prepared for us. She ate the sushi I prepared and rice with spicy chicken. I ate the same. When we finished eating, we talked about everything going on in our lives and we just tried to catch up on everything going on. The last time I saw her was when I ran into her as I was leaving the cemetary. She was dressed in a black gown with roses in her hands. Tears were slowly running down her cheeks. Tonight, I don't want tears. I want to smile for once, and that's what I plan on doing.

We talked all night long. It was about two a.m. when we decided to tidy up and go to bed.

"Well I better go now. Thanks for dinner. I haven't been this happy in a while." She said to me.

"No, it's far to dangerous to be walking about at this time of night. You can just sleep in the guest bedroom." I insisted. Sherlock's room has been turned into the guest bedroom. I haven't changed anything in there. I just made the bed and never stepped foot in there again.

"No. I'll be okay. I can call a cab." Molly countered. "Plus, I don't have anything to sleep in."

I sighed. I dind't want to argue. "Fine, but I'm going to ride with you." "That's fine with me." She said.

We walked to the door, and I closed as I walked out of it. Molly was already calling after a cab. She got in, and I slid in after her.

Even though we couldn't stop talking back and forth in the flat, it was awkwardly quiet on the way to her home. I got out and held the door open for her. I walked her up to her door, and I told her goodbye. She thanked me once again. "Thank you, John. This has been a wonderful night."

She smiled, and stepped closer to me, taking me in an embrace. We looked up at the night sky. It was full of stars. She kissed me. Have I developed feelings for Molly as she did me? I kissed her back.

I'm not sure how much Sherlock's fall has effected everyone else, but it has left me and Molly devastated. In some twisted way, he also drew us closer.

When I got back home, I went straight to bed, and slept until lunch. I awoke to a missed call from Molly. I made a note to myself to talk to her later. As for now, I feel the need to just take a walk and really embrace the fact that I'm still alive. I head to the woods that are close to the cemetary where my old friend lies. I walk around, studying each tree as I walk, and eventually get lost in my thoughts. Some thoughts are bad, but the majority of them are good.

I think of the kiss I shared with Molly.

I think of the last goodbye I shared with Sherlock.

I think of looking deeply into Molly's eyes.

I think of looking up at Sherlock from the ground.

I think of Molly in her violet dress.

I think of Sherlock's crimson blood on the pavement.

Suddenly, I gain consciousness of my surroundings. I feel myself being watched, but when I look around, I don't see anyone. I am the only one making noise. All I hear are my shallow breaths in the cold air. I look at my phone, but there is no service out here, as I have found myself deep in the woods.

"Hello? Is anyone there?" I asked outloud. I waited a couple moments, but I didn't get a response. I asked again, louder this time, and in response, I heard soft footsteps."Hell-" A hand clasped over my mouth from behind, so I wouldn't see who my attacker was. "Hold still damnit." The attacker said. I recognised that voice. Sherlock? It couldn't be, he's dead. I go still, in shock.

"S-Sherlock?" I ask.

"Hello, Watson. Long time no see." He replied.


	3. Sherlock's Confession

"Sherlock? I thought you were dead!" I say once he takes his hand off of my mouth. We are still in the woods. "How did you survive?"

"That's not important. Did you get my note?" He asked, focused on something important to him. I look at him. His eyes were bluer than I remember. His hair grew longer, but not tragically long.

"What note?" I asked him. "When did you give me a note?" His head snaps in my direction. "You mean you didn't get the note I left you?" He asks, his voice rising.

"What note? Am I missing something here?" I asked, trying to calm Sherlock with my soft voice. It doesn't work. His eyes have become the eyes of a mad man. "Watson, I don't know how much more obvious I could've made it." I looked at him. "Remember when we were talking on the phone before I jumped?"

I nodded. "I told you that this is my note."

"I thought you were talking about a suicide note. That the phone call was the note."

"Did you lose intelligence or something? Suicide note? Why would I make that?" I shrugged. "My note was _the phone_. I recorded Moriarty confessing to his crimes. He confessed everything."

I looked at him, shock spreading across my face. "How did you get him to confess?" I ask.

"Easy," his voice returned to a level volume. "I was playing dumb. I asked questions. I never ask questions. I always answer them. He explained them to me once I showed that my mind wasn't as strong as his. Well, that was obviously a lie. He believed me. I had my phone behind my back. The idiot didn't suspect a thing."

Even though he explained what happened, there were still unanswered questions. "What happened to Moriarty? Why did you jump?" He took a couple steps towards a tree and put his back against it. "He told me that either I die, or my friends die. I thought I would fool him. I stepped on the ledge, about to jump, but I stepped off, realising I had won this battle. He put a gun in his mouth, and before I could stop him, he was gone." He explained further.

"If he was already dead, why did you jump?" I asked. He looked up at the sky through the trees, as if trying to remember. "I had to finish off this battle. Plus, I was going to get frowned upon for supposedly killing a man. At least this way, I don't have to live with it."

I sighed. "You could've just explained." He looked in my eyes. "They wouldn't believe me. They think I'm a psychopath. They would make up stories and trash my image. Eventually, people would stop coming to me for crimes to solve. Instead, they would think I committed some crime that they can't solve." He resumed looking at the sky.

Would people actually do that? Would they blame someone just because they are smarter than anyone else? As if Sherlock were in my thoughts, he said, "The press wants something interesting, and they are going to get it, even if they have to make up a story. They would obviously go pick on someone that no one else can figure out. Wouldn't you do the same, John?" He caught me off guard. I wasn't expecting a question directed towards me. "I-I guess."

He kicked himself off of the tree. "Even I crave for more intelligence. It's a weakness humans have. They want something they can't have. They can't live without it. It's like a drug. You _need_ it. You can never have enough. But, what I have learned Is that the more you know, the more paranoid you are. You lose sanity, believe it or not."

Is this what he has been thinking about for the past year?

Suddenly, I came to realization. "Sherlock, what are we going to do? Everyone thinks you're dead." He stopped me. "Let them think that. That's how I want it."

"But where are you going to go? You can't stay here forever." I ask. He looks at me. "I'm not going to stay here forever, John. I am going to a new part of England. Maybe even a new country, anywhere but here. It's not safe here."

"Sherlock, we can't just run off and start a new life. You are known worldwide."

He whipped around. "I didn't say you are going with me." I gasped. We just reunited. I thought he cared. "Sherlock, aren't we friends? I want to go with you. We are a team."

"Not anymore," he turned away from me, adjusting his scarf, "This is best for everyone."

"I won't let you leave! I love you!" I yelled at him. He turned around with a blank expression.

"I-I mean… Molly loves you." I corrected. He turned back around and started walking away. "Molly will be okay as long as she still thinks I'm dead."


	4. Here to Stay

*Sherlock's P.O.V*

I looked at John with a sign of apology for putting him through such sadness. He looks as he did when we first met, with pain in his eyes. I turned around and walked away at a semi-fast pace. I really do want John to walk by my side. If he does, I would have to live in fear that he would die at any moment. Moriarty may be dead, but his little henchmen aren't. Tears start running down my cheeks slowly, but they multiply and quicken in speed with every step I take. After a minute or two of walking, I turn around to see if John was still there. I find that he is slowly trudging away. I hesitate before following him back to the flat. I pull my collar up and make a good enough disguise to actually be able to walk through London without being noticed. If anyone does notice, I could always kidnap them and force them into keeping their mouth shut and their thoughts away from me. Anyways, it's easy to train a normal human. All they think of is what programme may be airing tonight.

I make an effort not to let John see me, which is easy. His eyes are focused on the pavement the entire walk to the flat. I'm surprised that he hadn't called a cab. When John opened the door, he walked inside and closed it behind him. I wait a few moments before slowly opening and sliding through the door. He never noticed my entrance. Mrs. Hudson wasn't home. I could tell because she hadn't greeted John when he walked inside. I walked upstairs slowly and quietly and peeked through the threshold. John wasn't in the living area, but in the kitchen. He had boiling water over the stove that he apparently burned himself on as I could hear him cursing under his breath and searching through the medicine cabinet. I decided to surprise John, so I sat down in my chair across from the one John usually sits in.

I had a smile upon my face trying to imagine his reaction.

I pictured him walking in with a tray of the tea kettle, a tea cup, sugar, a teaspoon, and a variety of biscuits. Once he sees me occupying my chair, he would drop the tray and also smile at me. We would stand there for a few moments smiling like maniacs. Well, he most likely wouldn't do that, but even a sociopath like me can dream.

He took too long in the kitchen and my cheeks were getting tired. My smile faded and I looked around the room for something that would get his attention. I looked to my left and I saw my violin. It was perfect! He would know who it was right away. I opened my case, picked up my violin, prepared my bow, and started playing.

I heard glass hit the ground and smirked. John knew who it was just as I had planned. John came rushing in to see me sitting with my violin under my chin. I saw that he had been crying the whole time he was in there, and I doubt it was from his burn. I set the violin down and give him my best cheeky smile. He didn't return it. Instead, he came over and his fist connected with my face.

*John's P.O.V*

"You Idiot!" I shouted at him. "Why the hell are you in here?"

His fingers went up to his face and touched where I had just punched him. He resumed smiling. I was no longer sad, but angry. He thinks he is the hero, but this is just being a jerk.

Sherlock looked at me and said, "I'm here to stay, John. This is going to be our little secret. I'm not going to run off."

I sighed. "Can I at least tell Molly?"

"No. It may slip out of her mouth. You know her; when she is under pressure, she can say things not meant to be said."

"Whatever, it's your secret." I said as I slid down into the chair across from Sherlock. I looked at him. He is actually here. He is actually alive. He is with me. His eyes were everywhere but focused on me. I was the opposite.

"Okay, you have questions." He said, still not looking at me.

"Yes." I said. "Give me the exact reason why you faked your death."

His fingers started tapping on the arm of his chair in a rhythmic way. "Moriarty told me that it was either I die, or all of my friends die. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't jump. Your death would've been my fault."

"Sherlock, this whole year I thought you were dead. I didn't speak to anyone, and I just started talking to Molly." I scratched behind my ear. "Actually, we've been dating."

Sherlock looked up. I looked at him and realised that he probably had feelings for Molly. "I'm sor-" I started.

"There's no need to be sorry. Why are you apologising?" He cut in. "You think I have feelings for Molly? That's ridiculous." He said with furrowed eyebrows.

"Oh well I guess it is rather ridiculous. She only worked for you." I replied.

"Well, congratulations on you and Molly." Sherlock told me. I said, "We're only dating. It's not like we're getting married."

Just then my phone rang. I looked at the caller ID which read: Molly. I answered the phone.

"Hello?" I asked.

"Hey, John, do you wanna come to my flat tonight?" She asked. I thought for a moment and said, "Sure, what time?"

"Um you can come over in fifteen minutes if you want." She answered. We talked for a minute or two then I went to go get ready. Sherlock still sat in his chair when I was ready, and was probably in deep thought, so I slipped out without speaking.


	5. Surprise! Not dead!

I met Molly getting out of a taxi outside of her flat. "Hey John." She greeted me. I smiled and nodded towards her. She unlocked her door and stepped in, holding the door open for me. She sat down and I sat across from her. Molly's flat was different from mine and Sherlock's. Her walls were light blue with white curtains covering any windows. Photos were hung neatly along the wall, and the room was nicely put together. The chair I was sitting in had a white throw pillow with a green floral pattern. The chair itself was white with dark blue stripes. It was more comfortable than the chairs back at our flat. Molly's chair was similar; the pillow had a pink floral pattern instead of green.  
We talked about little and non-important things until Molly couldn't hold in any longer. Tears were gathering at her eyes. "I'm sorry. It's just- Sherlock. I was thinking about him. I just can't get over the fact that he's actually dead." She said. I couldn't help to see her like this. I didn't promise anything, and Molly can keep a secret. I got her to calm down and look into my eyes. Tears were slowly falling out of her deep brown eyes. "Molly, Sherlock isn't dead. He faked his death." Molly shook her head. "That's nonsense. I saw the pictures. John, blood was all over him. His eyes held a blank stare. He's dead. Don't try to convince me lies." I didn't think it'd be easy to convince her. After all, the last time she saw him, he was lying on the pavement. I decided to take her back to my flat. Sherlock couldn't be mad. I held her hand in the cab to comfort her. She stared ahead of the taxi. I got out first then helped her out when we arrived at my flat.  
When we walked in, I didn't talk to Molly. I heard a voice upstairs. "Boring! Being dead is so boring! I can't do anything without causing a scene!" Sherlock ranted upstairs. Molly gasped and her eyes grew big. She rushed upstairs and saw Sherlock pointing a gun at the wall. "Molly what the hell are you doing here?" Molly didn't say anything. She instead ran up to Sherlock and hugged him. "You aren't dead. I missed you." Sherlock looked tired. "I asked you a question." He didn't hug her; he just stood there like a tree. Molly slowly pulled back and looked up at him. She had a small sign of hurt in her expression.  
Way to go, Sherlock. It hasn't even been five minutes and you've already upset Molly. I think to myself. Sherlock switched his gaze at me. "Why is she here? I told you not to tell anyone." He asked. "Well- She was upset- and it just seemed- I wanted to-" "Tell me!" He demanded. "Okay." I shrunk down. "I didn't think it would hurt anyone if I told her. She was upset and it was obvious she was still damaged on your supposed death. It wasn't right to keep this big of a secret from her."  
I started to apologise, but Sherlock smiled at me. "Don't apologise to me. I knew you were going to tell Molly." I stopped immediately. "Then why did you tell me not to tell Molly if you knew I was going to anyways?" He switched his gaze to Molly. "Because you know my 'death' hurt her. You couldn't stand to see her upset and I knew it. This was only going to tempt you more. Besides, I just wanted to have a little fun." Molly pretended not to hear as she looked around the room. I looked at Molly and felt my face flush with embarrassment. Molly started to speak. "Well thanks for having me over, John, Sherlock. I should probably go home now. Nice to know you're alive." She nodded towards Sherlock. She turned to leave but stopped and looked at me for what felt like forever. "I-" She started, but didn't finish. "Wanna catch a film tomorrow, Molly?" I asked. Molly looked down. "I don't think I will be available tomorrow." She said. After a moment, Molly headed down the stairs and out of 221B Baker Street, leaving me alone with Sherlock.


End file.
